


Fracture

by wolf antlers (space_adventures)



Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Bathing/Washing, Bruises, Implied/Referenced Somnophilia, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27060481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_adventures/pseuds/wolf%20antlers
Summary: Voldemort loved marking his body, imprinting his ownership into Harry's flesh in far more intimate places than his forehead.Voldemort washes Harry.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Halloween Collection 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973395
Comments: 2
Kudos: 112





	Fracture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RavensFlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavensFlight/gifts).



> Part 2 of my Gore/Kinktober collection.
> 
> **Prompt:** bruises, washing
> 
> Beta'ed by and dedicated to Raven (I know how much you love bruises (: )
> 
> Thanks to my enablers again, you four are fantastic!

_Splash, drip, drip._ Cloth against his skin. It was smooth, one of those imported acromantula silk blends.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest, watching the water ripple outwards from his shins and lap against the sides of the bathtub.

Voldemort’s hands were firm but not rough against his scarred skin, rubbing gently over the old wounds with the care of someone who understood the aches that still lingered years later. He was tempted to lean into it, to let the rhythmic feel of Voldemort’s fingers take him away from reality.

“You’re beautiful,” Voldemort whispered, reverent. He dropped the cloth into the water — _splash_ — and pulled Harry back into his body, wrapping him in thin arms. It was strangely comforting. He let go of his legs, allowing them to slide back under the lukewarm water, leaning into the coolness of Voldemort’s skin. Maybe it should send a chill down his spine, being in the embrace of his parent’s murderer, but it didn’t.

_(He’d spent night after night, skin crawling, in his adjoined bathroom, retching into the toilet bowl while Voldemort's spidery fingers trailed up and down his spine and blackened his core.)_

The bruises on his knees were dark enough to be seen through the shallow water, and he remembered how he got them, kneeling on the floor in their bedroom for what felt like hours. Bruises covered his arms and hips too; Voldemort loved marking his body, imprinting his ownership into Harry's flesh in far more intimate places than his forehead.

Voldemort's fingers curled into the bruises on his hips now, caressing the aching skin with the lightest of touches and teasing moans of pain from Harry's mouth.

He could feel Voldemort's cocks against the small of his back now, throbbing where nothing had been only a minute before. His cock stirred against his thigh at the thought of Voldemort taking him, right here. No one would walk in; Voldemort's private quarters were blocked off to everyone, including the house-elves.

“Here?” Harry’s voice was hardly a whisper, but Voldemort’s sensitive hearing picked it up anyway.

“Only if you want to. I can always take you later.” He wasn’t sure he was prepared for penetration outside the comfort of the bedroom yet and Voldemort could sense his hesitation through the bond. Voldemort had never pushed him into something he hadn’t wanted — in relationships, at least, he had strong morals.

Voldemort’s hands skimmed Harry’s skin, wetting his chest with the soapy water and brushing over his nipples. Harry arched his back, pushing into the gentle fingers. Before he came here he wouldn’t have thought of such a place being so sensitive. Now, he knew of more erogenous zones than any of his classmates had. Voldemort was an encyclopedia of knowledge and Harry had it all at his fingertips.

“I couldn’t live without you,” Voldemort breathed into his hair, as close to a confession as Harry would ever get. Heat bloomed in his stomach, aching and tender. It had been a long time in the making, getting to this point together.

Dumbledore would be proud.

“I love you,” Harry said, voice tight, and he clenched his eyes shut as Voldemort pressed a kiss to his head, hands soothing as they slid up and down Harry’s sides.

And then Voldemort’s hand slipped down under the water and wrapped around Harry, lips sliding over the smoothness of Harry’s neck. He tilted his head for easier access, head lolling back against Voldemort’s shoulder. Voldemort’s hand was cool, tight, and Harry groaned, spreading his legs as best as he could to allow for better access.

Harry’s hand sought Voldemort’s spare one, fingers lacing together as Harry arched his back, hips shifting slightly. The water lapped delicately at the sides of the tub and Harry looked out the window, at the glazed grey clouds moving sluggishly across the blackened sky without a care in the world.

Voldemort was an expert at everything he did, and sex was no exception. He moved his hand slowly at first, pulling at Harry’s erection with an ease that showed his experience. Harry gasped as Voldemort’s thumb grazed the slit and bucked his hips up. Voldemort’s other hand released Harry’s and he sought the bruises on Harry’s hips, fitting his fingertips into the small circles perfectly. Harry groaned, gripping the edge of the bathtub with water slicked hands. Almost dizzy with need, he finally looked away from the window, seeking the comfort of Voldemort’s thin lips against his.

He eagerly opened his mouth at the touch of Voldemort’s tongue, gladly letting him take control, letting their slick lips glide together. Voldemort’s teeth lightly tugged at Harry’s bottom lip, and as he soothed the gentle bite with his long, tapered tongue Harry arched, moaning into Voldemort’s mouth as he came.

He slumped into the cocoon of Voldemort’s arms, letting Voldemort clean his softening cock as he found his way back to reality. Voldemort left soft kisses on his face, lips damp. When Harry looked down he could see globs of come lingering under the water, looking particularly disgusting for something that came as a result of feeling so good. In this easy calm of post-orgasm bliss, he was tempted to ask Voldemort about it; he seemed to have an answer for any question Harry could ever have.

“The water is tepid, we should get out now,” Voldemort said, fingers gliding over the bruised skin of Harry’s thighs, not pressing hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind him of their existence. It was almost enough to arouse him again. In the end, unfortunately, his tiredness won him over and he decided he couldn’t be bothered rousing himself for another round.

He nodded, yawning, and they stumbled up, Voldemort helping him over the side, as he tended to do. Voldemort’s wandless drying charm warmed Harry’s goosebumped skin — much like clothing straight from the dryer did, in the very rare occasions he was granted that luxury at the Dursleys.

His bruises stood out against his sun neglected skin, and he couldn’t help but admire them, the pretty way they dotted his thighs and hips, his stomach and arms.

Voldemort was still hard, purpled erections standing proud against his deathly pale skin. Harry knew he was waiting to go to bed, for them to curl up together, Harry’s heat enough for the two of them. After he fell asleep Voldemort would use his body, seeking his own pleasure and using Harry to achieve it.

Waking up with come on his thighs, skin sticky and slick, hole aching from a pounding he couldn’t remember, left him aching with need in the mornings.

When he curled up under the plush duvet, Voldemort’s cool skin at his back, he fell asleep easily, Voldemort’s hand carding through his curls. Anticipation swirled in his gut and he couldn’t wait for morning to come once more.


End file.
